


December 5: Fireplace

by fearfully_beautifully_made



Series: December (Christmas) Challenge [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Comforting Rosie, Day 5, December Fanfic Challenge, Domestic Fluff, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Improper use of frosting, Intercrural Sex, John Watson Loves Sherlock Holmes, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Married Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Massage, Oral Sex, Parentlock, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, Teenage Rosie, blowjob, handjob, soft, they're good parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-16 20:41:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16961112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fearfully_beautifully_made/pseuds/fearfully_beautifully_made
Summary: It's Christmas and that makes John happy. He and Sherlock have Baker Street to themselves for the evening, so what could be better than having a quiet night in, in front of the fire?





	December 5: Fireplace

**Author's Note:**

> Here is Day 5! Enjoy, lovelies!
> 
> Thank you for all of the lovely comments on this Christmas Series so far! I hope you enjoy Parentlock with a teenager. :)

December 5: Fireplace

It’s been a full day of Christmas shopping. Their arms are loaded up with bags and presents and John is positively giddy.

He hadn’t always felt this way about Christmas. In fact, he'd spent most of his life feeling like he’d really missed the boat on the whole holiday, but this is the twelfth Christmas he has spent with Sherlock and Rosie, and there is just something magical every Christmas he spends with them. He’s humming under his breath and stealing kisses from his husband as they walk through the shops, and Sherlock has on the face he wears when he thinks John is being silly, but he loves him too much to put a stop it.

Rosie, on the other hand, doesn’t seem as willing to go along with it. John’s just greeted a stranger walking past with a smile and cheery hello when Rosie says, “Dad, seriously?”

He glances at her, “What?”

She looks past John and widens her eyes at Sherlock in a way that is a mirror image of Sherlock when he’s trying to make a point.

Sherlock laughs and links his arm through John’s, “I think she’s finding your Christmas cheer a bit excessive.”

“Well,” John says, affronted, “Christmas is a lovely time of year. I’m buying things for the people I love, I have a brilliant daughter, a handsome husband, I have everything I need to make me excessively cheerful.”

“Oh, sure,” Sherlock murmurs, looking across John to Rosie. “Gone are the days when your dad called me brilliant. Now there’s only you hanging the stars in the sky, bee.”

Rosie rolls her eyes and shakes her head at them, curls bouncing. “You guys are so weird.” Her phone pings and she looks down at it before saying, “Jana’s invited me over for a Christmas party tonight,” she looks up at the two of them, “Can I go?”

“Will there be boys there?” John asks.

Rosie huffs, “For a little while, but they’re leaving at ten.”

“Are her parents going to be there?” Sherlock follows up.

“Yes.”

John and Sherlock look at each other and Sherlock shrugs, “Yes, alright.”

Rosie grins, “Thanks! You guys are the best.”

“How quickly the tides have turned,” John mutters. Sherlock snorts and John doesn’t hide his pleased grin.

They head home after that so that Rosie can do the hundred things a teenage girl has to do before she is ready for a party. While she’s upstairs getting ready, John and Sherlock upack Christmas gifts and tuck them away in their room for safe keeping.

“I thought I’d make dinner tonight,” John says, “Unless you’d rather go out.”

“The thing with the peas?” Sherlock asks, looking up at John under his eyelashes.

“We had the thing with the peas last week,” John says with a laugh. “I was thinking pasta, but I can do the thing with the peas, if you’d like,” he smiles at his lovely husband.

Sherlock shrugs, “Pasta sounds good, too. Whatever you’d rather,” he leans into John’s space and kisses him. “You know, the nice thing about having a teenage daughter is that she is out of the house a lot more than she used to be.”

“A few more years and she’ll be off to Uni,” John says, trying to hide the way that makes his chest ache.

“You’re ruining the mood I’m trying to set,” Sherlock teases gently. “She’s only fourteen, John, let’s not worry about those years just yet.”

“You’re right,” John says with a sigh, “As usual, my brilliant husband.”

Sherlock laughs, “I was just teasing you. I know you think I’m a genius.”

“You are,” John replies, wrapping an arm around Sherlock. “My genius.”

“Yes.”

John pecks his lips, “Will you pick up a bottle of wine while you’re out? Maybe two?”

Sherlock hums at him, “Planning on getting me drunk, Dr. Watson-Holmes?”

“Just might be,” he replies.

Sherlock’s about to say more, something a little naughty if the twinkle in his eye is anything to go by, but Rosie interrupts, “Dad! Papa! I’m ready to go,” she calls.

“I didn’t think the whole naming thing through when I decided I was daddy and you were papa,” John says as he leads the way out of their room. “She always sounds like she loves you more.”

Sherlock laughs as they come into the living room. John comes over to where Rosie is standing, checking her reflection in the mirror, “Papa’s going to take you, alright?”

She nods without really looking at him, he leans in and kisses her forehead, “Be good and have fun, Ro.”

“Thanks,” she replies with a quick grin. “I will.”

She and Sherlock put on their coats on in sync and are out the door, talking about fashion trends and scoffing at John’s sweater choices. They are so much alike sometimes, it makes John wonder if genetics have anything to do with raising a child.

Once the door downstairs closes, John turns to the kitchen and gets things going. He puts the water on to boil and starts pulling ingredients out of the cupboard for the pasta they’ll have and for the red velvet cupcakes he plans to make. They're Sherlock’s favorite and it’s been forever since he’s made them. He has a recipe that only takes about 45 minutes to throw together.

After 20 minutes, he decides to send Sherlock a quick text and give himself a little more time.

**When you stop off to get wine, would you grab milk?**

His phone buzzes,

**_That’s a different store, entirely-SWH_ **

**Please? Xox**

Sherlock sends back an eye rolling emoji.

**I love you.**

_**I love you, too, you fool. -SHW** _

John grins as he slides the cupcake tin into the stove and sets the timer. He hums to himself, vaguely recognizing the tune as silver bells, as he leaves the kitchen and goes to their room.

He doesn’t know what makes him think of this, it’s something he’d done years ago when Rosie was little and she and Sherlock had both gotten sick and he’d gotten tired of running back and forth. But something in the back of his mind decides it’s a good idea for tonight, too.

He pulls their blankets and comforter off, then tugs the mattress off the bed and carries it into the living room, struggling a bit at the doorways and getting it down the hallway. When he gets to the living room he leans it up against the couch long enough to move the coffee table off to the side of the room. Then he flops the mattress on the floor before returning to their rooms to grab the thousand pillows Sherlock decided five years ago made their room more cozy along with the comforter and blankets.

He sets up a nice little nest on the mattress with the pillows and blankets before the timer goes off on the oven.

With a grin, he leaves the mattress and pulls the cupcakes from the oven. They look perfect and John does a small happy dance as he sets them out to cool.

He stirs his sauce, taking a little taste and adding in some basil and stirring in the sausage.

Grinning, he picks up his phone and texts his husband:

**Darling?  
Sweet love of mine?**

**_What do you want?-SWH_ **

John grins at the phone and texts back:  
 **Could you please pick up some Parmesan cheese?**

**_I’ve already left the store. I’m nearly home.-SWH_ **

**Please, my husband, dearest?**

**_Why do I love you?-SWH_ **

John switches on his camera and takes a smiling selfie that he sends to Sherlock.

**_Ah, yes. That’s why.-SWH_ **

Sherlock sends back.

**Thank you, love.**

**_You can thank me properly later. -SWH_ **

**Cross my heart.**

He grins and sets his phone down before dumping the rigatoni into the pot of boiling water. The cupcakes have cooled enough that he can start piping, piling the cream cheese frosting on high, just the way Sherlock likes it best, equal parts frosting and cupcake.

By the time Sherlock gets home, John’s finished the cupcakes, stoked up the fire, and started some Nat King Cole Christmas Music.

Sherlock enters the flat and blinks around the room. “What’s all this?” he asks as he takes his coat off and hangs it.

“A night in,” John says with a shrug.

The other man looks at him with a huge smile he hasn’t even tried to contain, “This is quite a surprise.”

He walks over and presses a kiss to his lips, “Good. I like it when I actually surprise you.” He kisses him once more, “Dinner?”

“Starving.” Sherlock replies.

“Good, I’ve set out wine glasses, go pour us some and I’ll bring over the pasta.”

Sherlock obediently goes over to the mattress and picks up the corkscrew from the tray John had set out earlier, opening a bottle of wine and pouring as John asked. When John gets over he hands him his bowl of pasta and they find a space on the mattress to sit, wine balanced on the floor beside them.

“This is nice,” Sherlock says with a smile at John, mouth full of pasta.

He nods, “Yeah.” John nudges his shin with his toe, “I thought a night in bed might be good, but then I thought a night by the fireplace seemed perfect for this time of year.” John takes a bite of his pasta, “Then I thought why not both.”

“My genius husband,” Sherlock replies with a grin.

“Damn straight.”

They talk and laugh while they eat, drinking far too much wine and teasing each other more than any couple who’s been together as long as they have has the right to. Eventually, after they’ve drained both bottles of wine, John goes to the pantry and fetches a third, a gift from a client, and brings it out with a plate of cupcakes.

“John!” Sherlock says, mouth popping open comically in surprise. “What are those?”

John laughs, “Surely the only consulting detective in the world can deduce what’s on this plate.”

He bends down and Sherlock’s fingers hover for a moment as he tries to decide which one has the most frosting. “My favorite,” Sherlock says, looking up at him with wide, warm eyes.

“Yes.”

“John, thank you.” He peels the wrapper back and takes a huge bite, chews for a moment, then moans, “They’re perfect.”

“I’m glad,” John replies, taking one off the plate and nibbling at it.

“Why did you do all this?”

John shrugs, “Dunno. I just felt like doing something nice.”

“Thank you,” Sherlock says softly, leaning across the mattress and kissing John with sticky icing covered lips.

John cups his face for a moment and holds their lips together before drawing back and saying, “So tell me what you deduced about the party Rosie’s gone to.”

Sherlock launches into deductions about Rosie’s peers, making John laugh again. Then it becomes a game to make they other one laugh and they’re tipping over on the mattress, bellies aching from laughing too hard, smiles stretching too wide for their mouths.

When John’s finally managed to catch his breath, he turns his head to look at Sherlock, and it’s not what he means to say but he opens his mouth and the words, “You’re my best friend,” fall out.

Sherlock looks over at him, with that soft, dopey look that says he’s had too much wine and he’s in love, “Never thought I’d be anyone’s best friend,” he says softly.

John takes his hand, “Well, you’ve been mine for almost two decades now.”

Sherlock groans, “We’re getting old.”

John bursts out laughing again. “You’re ridiculous.”

Sherlock rolls over and kisses the smile off of John’s lips, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” John replies.

“Did you plan on using this bed for something other than eating dinner on?” Sherlock asks, trailing his fingers lightly down John’s side.

“The thought had occurred to me,” John replies, voice gone a little breathless, and he’s still surprised that Sherlock can get to him so quickly after all of these years.

“I have a splendid idea,” Sherlock says, sitting up and starting to stand.

“Any idea that is taking you out of this bed at the moment is a terrible idea,” John replies with a pout.

Sherlock laughs, “Get undressed.”

“Do I have to do everything myself?”

“Not this next part,” Sherlock says, flashing a grin at John.

John strips out of his clothes and starts to get under the covers when Sherlock calls out, “Stay on top of the blankets.”

“It’s a bit chilly for that,” John gripes, but does as he’s told.

“I’ll throw an extra log on the fire,” Sherlock tells him and John hears him rattling around in the kitchen and can’t imagine what he’s gotten up to.

When Sherlock starts to come back he says, “Close your eyes.”

John’s does and then after a moment there’s something cool being spread over his nipples. He gasps in shock, his body twitching, “Sherlock, What-?” he starts before a moan cuts off his words.

Sherlock’s hot lips and tongue cover his right nipple, flickering and sucking at that delicate flesh. Sherlock moans and moves to the other, licking long, slow slicks of his tongue over John’s nipples, lapping up whatever’s covering them.

“Ohh,” John breathes, “That’s lovely.”

He opens his eyes in time to see that Sherlock has filled his piping bag and is trailing a line of creamy frosting straight down John’s sternum and tummy, stopping at his belly button to fill it.

John groans as Sherlock’s tongue dips inside, lapping at the sweet frosting and licking up the trail to the center of John’s chest. Sherlock surges the rest of the way up John’s body and presses their lips together, licking inside of John’s mouth as though he’d drizzled frosting inside.

He slides his fingers into Sherlock’s curls, clenching in them and holding Sherlock’s mouth to his. Sherlock draws John in closer to him, lining their bodies up from chest to thigh. “You feel lovely,” he murmurs.

“You do, too,” John replies, letting one hand stroke down Sherlock’s spine, noting with a grin that his spine’s not as nobby as it once was. He lets his hand continue its path downward, sliding along the dip in Sherlock’s spine and then over the rounded curve of his delectable bottom.

Sherlock hums in pleasure and hunkers down into John’s embrace further, kissing him slowly and lightly brushing fingertips over John’s face.

He turns his head to the side so his lips can slide along Sherlock’s cheek and up to his ear, “I love you, Sherlock Watson-Holmes,” he says, and you’d think the thrill of being able to say ‘Sherlock Watson’ would have worn off somewhat in the past seven years, but it hasn’t for him. And if the way Sherlock melts further into his body is anything to go by, it hasn’t for him, either.

“I love you, too. Thank you for the lovely meal and the cupcakes,” Sherlock replies.

“You’re welcome, darling,” John says softly, brushing his hand up Sherlock’s rib cage, then back down again.

“What would I do without you?”

“Hmmm,” John says, pretending to consider the question for a moment, “Probably starve.”

Sherlock laughs, “Ah, yes, your propensity for feeding me is certainly what I love most about you,” he teases.

“You’d have to do less shopping without me, though.”

“Well, that’s true,” Sherlock replies. He gives John one more faint peck on the lips before squirming in his arms and sliding down his body once more.

He lets him, gladly, his fingers sliding up his shoulders as the other man slides down. Sherlock grasps John’s cock in his left hand and pipes icing around the tip of John’s cock with his right. A shudder runs up John’s spine at the cool icing touching his hot flesh and he cock twitches.

He feels the tip of the icing bag cover the tip of his cock in icing and then Sherlock snorts.

John looks down to see that Sherlock is smirking at his cock, the tip now covered in creamy white icing. He rolls his eyes at Sherlock, “I take back what I said about us getting old. You’re still a sixteen year old, obviously.”

Sherlock laughs again before taking the head of John’s cock in his mouth and sucking the frosting off. He flicks his tongue around the head, cleaning off every trace of frosting and John groans and the glorious attention.

He pops off and looks up at John, “I can’t decide which I like the taste of better, your frosting or your cock.”

John grins at him and runs his fingers through Sherlock’s curls, “I love you.”

Sherlock blinks at him, “I love you, too.”

“Come back up here,” John requests, wanting to touch the other man, to hold him and feel him, to absorb him into his skin.

Sherlock tosses the frosting bag onto the tray John had set out earlier and crawls back up John’s body. Once he’s come the whole way up, John rolls their bodies, covering Sherlock and pressing his arms to the mattress above his head. Sherlock groans and his body goes soft and pliant under John’s. He stretches luxuriously against the planes of John’s body and John loves the way their bodies feel together.

John kisses him, long and slow, giving Sherlock every feeling he holds inside his chest for safe keeping. Sherlock’s hands slip from John’s grasp to curl around John’s neck and wrap through his hair.

He slides his hands down Sherlock’s neck and over his shoulders, stroking the long, lovely planes of Sherlock’s body. He rolls his hips against Sherlock’s, pressing their cocks together.

“John,” Sherlock draws back to whisper, brushing his nose against John’s.

He kisses him again, stroking his hands over his body, down to his hips and under his arse.

Sherlock gasps as John touches him, trying to arch into him. John rolls then onto their sides, pulling Sherlock close and letting his hands trail down to cover Sherlock’s bottom again.

The other man groans, fingers clenching against John’s skin. His head tips back and jaw drops as John’s hands rub firmly against him. “John.”

“I have a surprise for you,” John murmurs.

“A surprise?” Sherlock asks dazedly.

“Mmhmm,” John replies, pulling away slightly so he can reach over under the couch cushion and pull out the bottle. “Roll over on your belly.”

Sherlock groans and does what John asked, presenting his back to John.

John opens the peppermint massage oil he’d found this morning at the shops and bought when Sherlock was busy helping Rosie with something. He pours oil out onto his hands and rubs them together to warm it before laying his hands over Sherlock’s shoulders.

Sherlock lets out a low moan at the gentle touch and John starts to massage him in earnest. He rubs and massages until the tension is out and Sherlock’s shoulders are loose and relaxed. He slides his hands up Sherlock’s neck, pressing and sliding against his skin.

The noises slipping out of Sherlock’s lips are lovely, soft sounds that make the pit of John’s belly warm. He strokes his hands down, rubbing over Sherlock’s trapeziums, pressing then releasing.

He works his way down Sherlock’s back, loosening the knots and relaxing his lanky love until Sherlock is laying boneless on the mattress. John presses his thumbs into the divots above his arse.

Sherlock groans and squirms against the mattress. Then he abandons that part of Sherlock’s body entirely, moving to stroke his thumbs over the arches of Sherlock’s feet. It’s a little known fact about Sherlock Holmes, but there are few things that Sherlock loves more than a good foot massage. John has often joked that Sherlock would rather have a foot rub than sex, and sometimes he’s not even sure he’s really joking.

Sherlock lets out a drawn out moan, “John, that feels fantastic.”

John digs into the arch of Sherlock’s right foot with his thumbs, pressing up and out, working out the tension in Sherlock’s foot before weaving his fingers through his toes and stretching them. After Sherlock’s left out a soft, relieved sigh John switches feet and devotes the same attention to it. He presses up Sherlock’s calves, massaging the tense bundle of muscle and work his way up Sherlock’s thighs.

The higher he gets the more Sherlock twitches in anticipation, his body all but thrumming with the desire to be touched. He's reached the top of the other man’s thighs and slicks his thumbs along under Sherlock’s buttocks before he pulls his hands back.

Sherlock groans and drops his head to the mattress, “John, please. I am begging you to touch my arse,” he whimpers. “My heart can’t take the anticipation. I’m not getting any younger.”

John laughs, “You’re ridiculous.” He trickles a little oil directly onto the fleshy left buttock, then the right.

Sherlock gasps and shudders, a quiet hiss escaping his lips, then John’s hands are on him, cupping his bottom in both hands and rubbing. Sherlock lets out a loud noise somewhere between a moan and a wail and it’s impossibly sexy.

He spends more time than is strictly necessary just rubbing at those lovely twin globes before spreading Sherlock’s buttocks wide and rubbing his thumbs over the flesh between. He picks up the massage oil again and dribbles oil along the crevice of Sherlock bottom, Sherlock groans and ruts against the mattress as though he positively cannot help himself. Then John’s fingers trail through the viscous liquid, spreading and smearing it along Sherlock’s hole and perineum with strong, sure fingers.

He goes on this way teasing at the base of Sherlock’s cock and his balls before simply sliding up and down. After long moments like this, John takes his fingers back and grasps his own cock in his fist to drag the tip along the skin he’s just oiled.

“Shit,” Sherlock curses, “Yes. More, John.”

John rolls the two of them so that Sherlock’s back is pressed tight against his front, then he slides his cock between Sherlock’s legs.

“Oh,” Sherlock groans, tipping his head back and grasping John’s hip. “Touch me,” he moans, reaching for John’s hand.

John lets his hand trail upward, rather than down, and finds his perfectly beaded nipples. He pinches and rolls them between his oiled fingers and Sherlock arches into the touch, hips bucking.

“John,” he groans.

“That’s it, love,” John murmurs encouragingly, slicking his lips along Sherlock’s shoulders and neck.

Sherlock clenches his thighs tighter around John, his hips rolling against him, drawing him in and out of the tight channel between his legs. John rests his forehead against the knob at the top of Sherlock's spine, looking down to watch his cock sliding in and out of the space Sherlock’s made for him. “Fuck, you’re sexy.”

Sherlock groans at the compliment and his smooth roll of his hips starts to become a bit choppier, his motions a little jerkier and tiny little, “yes’s” start slipping from between his lips.

John slides his hand down from its position on Sherlock’s chest to his cock, he’s barely even wrapped his hand around Sherlock when the other man is coming. He groans John's name as he empties himself.

He continues to leisurely thrust between Sherlock’s legs while his husband comes down from his orgasm high. Enjoying the heavy weight of his sated body pressing against him. 

He’s not entirely prepared for Sherlock to move, but move he does. He rolls over away from John and lies down on his back even as he’s tugging at John to get him to move. “Fuck my mouth,” Sherlock says with that sultry, blissed out voice of his, as he tries to maneuver John so he’s straddling his head.

John groans, “Are you sure?” They’ve done it before, but John’s always a little bit nervous about it.

Sherlock rolls his eyes in lieu of answering. With a huff, John straddles Sherlock’s head, planting his hands on the mattress to give himself a foundation. Slowly he lowers his hips, pressing the tip of his cock between Sherlock’s soft lips.

He groans as Sherlock takes him in, lazily sucking and licking at the head of John’s cock. “Fuck, Sherlock.”

Sherlock hums and his hands stroke up the back of John’s thighs until he’s reached his arse, he presses down gently, drawing John into the tight, wet heat of his mouth further with a groan.

John carefully starts to rock his hips, pressing as much as the first four inches of his cock into Sherlock’s lips. Sherlock groans, tongue and mouth working in tandem to massage John’s cock. Then Sherlock’s fingers are pressing him down further, and further, and further, and John’s entire cock is engulfed in Sherlock’s throat and mouth.

He lets out a strangled grunt and draws back until just the head remains, relishing the way his cock aches with pleasure and with the need for more.

Sherlock sucks on just the head as though it were a sweet and John moans, he loves it when Sherlock does that. “So good, baby,” he encourages.

The other man moans around the head and opens his mouth to trail the tip of his tongue around the head before taking John in and sucking at him again. Then he pops off and John looks down at Sherlock, who’s tilting his head to look up at him, John’s cock dragging against his chin and leaving wet marks. “Fuck my mouth.”

“I am,” John replies.

“No, fuck my mouth like you would my arse,” Sherlock says with a groan, tongue flicking out to trail along the part of John’s cock he can reach. “Fuck it hard and deep,” Sherlock says with a moan.

“You’re filthy,” John informs him.

Sherlock grins, “It’s why you married me.”

“Well, it might have been one of the reasons,” John says, “But not the main one.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes again, and John’s not sure who was the bad influence on whom, him or Rosie. “Stop stalling.” Sherlock rubs his hands up and down John’s thighs. “Fuck my mouth,” he says again.

“Open,” John murmurs, and he lets himself slide in. He presses in slowly at first, moving incrementally until he can feel Sherlock’s lips brushing his groin. He moans and pulls back, slowly starting to move in and out of Sherlock’s mouth, all the way in then almost all the way back out.

Sherlock’s eyes are closed and he’s moaning in apparent delight.

“That’s it, baby,” John can’t help but growl at him. “Yes, oh,” he moans as Sherlock does something particularly delightful with his tongue. “Fuck, that’s it.” His hips have started to move a touch faster, in and out, not pulling quite as far out as he had been before pushing back in. “Fuck, that’s nice,” John groans.

Sherlock’s hands grasp his thighs and he’s slurping around John’s cock to keep the saliva in his mouth. John groans at the filthiness of that sound. “That’s right,” he grunts. “Mmm, yes. Suck me.”

Sherlock moans at his words, fingers digging into John’s thighs as he sucks and swallows around John’s cock.

“Yes,” John groans, pressing in harder and even deeper and Sherlock whimpers around his cock, moaning and sucking. “Sherlock,” John groans, “Fuck, you beautiful, perfect man.” He groans as he can feel his orgasm building in the pit of his belly and the very tips of his toes. “I’m going to come.”

Sherlock lets out a muffled groan, fingers sliding up to grasp John’s buttocks and try to press him in even further.

“Fuck,” John groans, “Don’t stop,” he moans, hips thrusting faster still, “I love you,” he groans as his cock empties itself down the back of Sherlock’s throat.

When he’s finished, Sherlock presses his hips up and John slides out of his mouth and flops onto his back. He registers the feeling of Sherlock moving before he knows why and looks over to see Sherlock’s fist is wanking his own cock, stroking hard and tight.

John groans and rolls to his side, burying his face in Sherlock’s neck as he takes Sherlock in his own fist and strokes him. “You’re incredible,” John murmurs, pressing sloppy kisses to Sherlock’s collarbone and Sherlock shudders as he orgasms for the second time that evening. “Beautiful,” John whispers, leaning up to press his lips to Sherlock’s.

Both of their bodies slump together and they take long minutes to simply lie together and catch their breath. Eventually John breaks the silence with, “I love it when you do that.”

“When I ask you to fuck my mouth?” Sherlock asks, voice a little gravelly.

“Well, yes, that too,” John says with a grin and a sloppy kiss, “But I meant when you get hard again in such a short amount of time. It never stops being the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Sherlock gives a pleased sounding hum, “I love it when you start talking dirty,” he confesses. “The sound of your voice when you’re telling me to suck you, or take all of you, or anything else.” Sherlock groans, “I love it when you’re bossy.”

John laughs, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

They laze about for a few more minutes before deciding it’s too cold. They clean up both themselves and the bedding, and put on their pyjamas and crawl back into bed lying on their sides and just talking and laughing at each other.

They’re both surprised when they hear the door open downstairs and then footsteps coming up. A minute later Rosie appears in the doorway, and stops in her tracks when she sees the bed on the floor in the living room. “What are you two doing?”

“Enjoying the fire,” John says, as Sherlock says, “Having a slumber party.”

Rosie blinks at them for a moment, then says, “Can I join you?”

“Of course, love,” John says, and they move to make room for Rosie.

She toes off her shoes and climbs on the bed in between them, just like she used to when she was small, and curls her back against Sherlock’s chest and reaches out to wrap John’s fingers in her own.

“Alright?” John asks.

Rosie looks down, avoiding John’s eyes and John looks up to meet Sherlock’s.

Sherlock gives a barely perceptible shake of his head and they both wait for her to be ready to say more.

“It’s just,” Rosie starts, then she swallows and John can hear the tears at the back of her throat. He tightens his hold on her hand, “My friends can be really mean.”

“Mean how?” Sherlock asks, voice gentle but serious.

She shrugs, “It’s stupid,” she says. “And I don't even know how to describe it sometimes. But they just make me feel....” she trails off and tucks her nose into the crook of her arm, “Like I’m a freak or something.”

“You’re not a freak,” John says, his voice coming out more fiercely than he meant it to. God, he hates that word.

“Well, I sort of am, aren’t I?” Rosie asks, tears clear now. “I mean, I look at people and I know their secrets. And I don’t mean to say them, but sometimes I just don’t even know they’re secrets,” she whispers. “And things just make sense to me at school that don’t make sense to anyone else.” Her voice goes even softer, “I feel like I’m a walking disaster and I just want to be normal.”

John looks at his husband, at a loss. Sherlock drops a kiss to Rosie’s curls and says, “Darling, there is nothing wrong with you.” He sighs, “And I know it feels like it. I know it feels like everyone learned something that you just missed along the way.”

Rosie nods and John sees tears leak from the corner of her eyes.

“But it’s not true, sweetheart,” Sherlock says. He looks at John, “Everyone feels like that when they’re your age. Even Daddy felt like that and everyone loved him in secondary school and thought he had his life all together.” John nods in affirmation. “But, you, my bee, you are so special. You’re extraordinary and you are going to do things that most of your friends,” he says with a sneer of disdain, “Can’t even fathom.”

Sherlock looks at John, then, as he murmurs, “And someday, someone will show up and they will love all of those bits of you that you always thought were broken. Someday, someone will love all of the pieces of you that you hate, all of the things that feel like they separate you from everyone else, that person will see and they will know that those things are what make you extraordinary.” Sherlock kisses the top of her head, “And until then, until you know how incredible you are, you will always have Dad and me to tell you, alright?”

“Alright,” Rosie says, through big tears and choked on sobs. She shuffles across the mattress to press her face into John’s chest and he wraps his arms around her, holding her like he had when she was tiny.

“That’s it,” John says softly, stroking her back, “Good girl, let it go.” He kisses the crown of her head, “It’s alright. I’ve got you.”

Sherlock stands up, “I’m going to make us some tea,” he says softly. “Then I think we should put on a movie to watch together. What do you think, bee?”

“Okay,” she manages.

“Good,” Sherlock says. By the time he’s come back to the living room with tea and with cupcakes, Rosie's calmed down enough to stop crying and she and John have built a fort on the mattress for all of them to sit in.

Sherlock hands Rosie and John their mugs and sets down the cupcakes in front of them. Rosie immediately takes one and looks at John, “Papa’s favorite.”

John laughs, “You’re right. Though, if I’d known you were going to be home I might have made chocolate instead.”

She shrugs and they both watch as Sherlock fiddles with the DVD player, He puts on Muppet Christmas Carol, Rosie and John’s favorite. And John thinks that this is what love is, everything done for the good of the other. He’s amazed by what they’ve created together. 

Mrs Hudson finds them like that the next morning. All three of them curled up on the mattress in the living room, sound asleep, cocooned in the shroud of love they put over each other.

 


End file.
